


i saw eyes in the heat

by erytheia



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Burning, Cigarettes, Deserts, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, No Spoilers, On the Run, Rooftops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erytheia/pseuds/erytheia
Summary: "Chase me." Gueira says, and Meis has only a brief moment to think of clouds before Gueira is running and laughing and throwing himself from the roof.
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57





	i saw eyes in the heat

**Author's Note:**

> title - would that i by hozier 
> 
> this is set in some unidentified time before the film, i just want to see them being young and stupid and funky and happy. also gueira please respond to my dms please, i've been messaging you for hours baby don't do this to me

Meis stares out across the dry desert and thinks of home.

Not home as it once was, or how he ever thought it would be, but here, sat on the roof of an abandoned building with Gueira’s head in his lap, Meis thinks it’s about as close as he’ll get. It’s all different, and so new, and vibrant, but for once Meis allows himself to relish in it, and in all its total unpredictability he finds a rare kind of peace. He settles into himself under the sun, and watches as heat blurs the air before him until it’s heaving, alive with it.

Thick smoke spirals down into his lungs as he takes another drag of the cigarette, and he strokes the soft paper between his fingers. He listens to the soft hiss of it burning, feels the soft breeze against his sticky skin. He breathes.

Gueira is in his lap, made slow and docile by the afternoon heat. He spins the empty cigarette packet between his fingers, pulls it open and pushes it closed, spins it again. He reads the warnings, of blind eyes and dirty black teeth, and smiles.

Meis smiles too, a rare, candid little thing, and blows smoke out into the heavy air. Then he’s holding the cigarette to Gueira’s lips and watching, intoxicated, at the way his cheeks hollow slightly with the drag. His lips part too-soon against smoke, and Meis wonders if he’d be able to contain it even if he wanted to. Probably not, he thinks, and fills his lungs with the knowledge of it until his head spins. He takes another drag, and it’s damp against his lips.

In this moment he starts to feel something, and it’s too simple and perfect to be anything more than happiness. He lets his head fall back and stares up at the blue sky. It’s simple too, in its own way, and for a moment he allows himself to pretend everything is. Then, he listens.

Gueira is humming some old tune in his lap and fidgeting, always fidgeting, this time not with the empty box but with the buttery silver paper inside it. He tears it and lets it drift away in the breeze, still humming. Meis feels drunk on it, on the heat and the calm and everything Gueira.

He finishes the cigarette and goes to flick it away, but now Gueira is reaching for it, the paper discarded and forgotten on his chest. Meis frowns slightly but remains hazy and simple in the heat, letting Gueira slip it from his fingers. He watches with something mild, like interest, and then something hot and sudden, like panic, as Gueira opens his mouth and presses the cherry red end to his tongue.

Meis forgets himself, and hisses between his teeth as he grabs Gueira’s face, squishing it between his hands and hoping it hurts. “Gueira.” The now dulled cigarette falls onto his thigh, ignored.

Gueira’s eyes flash at the admonishment, and his lips curl. He lets his jaw settle, slack, in Meis’s grip, and presses his shoulders down into Meis’s legs as though trying to sink through them, into sand. Meis shakes Gueira’s head once, then again, and then Gueira is laughing hard, at Meis’s face and the ball of vibrating fire he spits up at it. Meis, briefly, inexplicably, gets lost in the colours of it.

Then he’s shoving Gueira’s face away, and tutting, and shutting his eyes against the sudden rush of heat. He sees the impossible pink of it on the back of his eyelids.

He tries to distance himself, up into the sky and out across the desert, but no matter how far he gets he can still hear Gueira laugh.

-

Meis rolls his head back as though in water, languid and weightless and loose. His hands are anchored against the floor behind him, offering a steady support that sends small spirals of exertion up his arms, as though the small rocks digging into his palms have burrowed through into his skin. He can’t remember being so aware of himself, and it’s odd and exciting and easy. He tenses his fingers, curling them down against the ground just because he can. He relaxes them again and settles back into his lean, feeling the dirt that remains beneath his fingernails.

Gueira has left his lap and is crouching nearby, drawing messy patterns in the gravel with eager hands and trails of fire that blacken the sand. Meis follows the fire absently, and Gueira too. He looks up at the clouds, and wants so desperately to throw himself through them, into them. He thinks of Gueira’s red hair, and how it feels in his hands.

Then Gueira is standing, and facing him, and Meis lets his vision blur back into focus.

“Yes?”

“Come here.” Gueira says, and stares. Meis raises an eyebrow, but sits up properly and awards Gueira with his attention, entirely. He wonders idly if Gueira knows how easily he commands it, and when he himself stopped thinking in trivialities and let his head fill, endlessly, with Gueira. Gueira smiles and shakes his head, like an offer, somehow, like a challenge. Meis digs his fingers back into the dirt.

“Chase me.”

Meis frowns and stands, and has only a brief moment to think of clouds before Gueira is running and laughing and throwing himself from the roof.

Meis erupts into motion, and runs, too, to the shallow wall and the drop beyond it. He leans over and eats the vertigo raw, because there’s Gueira, laughing and grinning beneath his half-armour as he falls into the billowing hands of the flame. Meis thinks no more of clouds and instead of fire, and hot, hot heat, and how he has never seen something as beautiful and as alive as Gueira, plummeting towards the ground as though it wouldn’t dare hurt him. Eventually he lands, and rolls, his armour fizzling out into smoke. Meis remembers how to breathe.

Then he laughs and laughs, hands tingling against hot stone. “Gueira! You-”

Gueira is lay on his back, like a star, with a dopey grin on his face and eyes shut tight, and Meis feels like he’s already falling. Gueira’s eyes open, and he looks up at Meis from all those floors below as though he is sat among clouds. Then, “chase me,” he repeats, and he’s up and running out towards the horizon. Meis jumps.

-

Meis chases him until the sun hangs low in the sky, and their fire flashes bright purple against the rocks. Gueira jumps, spins, flies up high into the air, like a bird, and Meis laughs and follows him, always. They fall around each other until they’re dusty with the desert sand and it sticks to them, soft, like a second skin. Gueira lost his jacket some time ago, but neither had stopped, or cared, or had been able to summon a want for anything material. Meis laughs until his chest aches with it.

Eventually, Meis catches him, and they roll together in the dirt. He pins Gueira beneath him, nails catching against the ground, and feels so wholly as though he’s liable to burst, to combust, to shatter against the ground and get eaten up by the flames. He can feel the heat of Gueira’s legs angled loosely around his hips, and it goes to his head all at once like the rush of the cigarettes. Meis holds Gueira down with a hand against his chest, printing the dirt on his palm to his skin, and deeper, more, to his blood.

“You caught me,” Gueira pants, and Meis stares so intensely he feels dizzy with it.

“Of course I did.” It’s off-hand for all that his mind is elsewhere, but Gueira grins regardless.

Then he’s looking away from Gueira’s eyes as though they might burn him, like magma, and instead stares at his chest, at the thin film of sweat from the heat and the exertion of being so completely, totally, free. This, too, is new, but Meis allows the sensations to sweep him up until his restraint crumbles to ash, and when Meis holds onto one of Gueira’s hands and pins it to the ground beside his head, Gueira’s fingers merely close around his own. Gueira has gone quiet, just looking up at him with big bright eyes, and Meis feels afloat with the power of it.

He submits to that low rumble of heat and lifts his free hand to press a finger to Gueira’s slack lips, tugging against them as he draws a trail down to his neck, over his adam’s apple, into the dip between his collar bones. He circles briefly back up to his throat, and wonders if perhaps this is the original sin, that fire that bubbles up inside him that he’s helpless not to share.

He drags and drags until he reaches the collar of Gueira’s shirt – tugs against it, absently. He hears the breath rush from Gueira’s chest and grins. He lets his head tip to the side and loses himself in this simple motion, but then he feels Gueira fall from his prior stillness, and now he’s vibrating, boiling, the hand in his squeezing tighter. Meis pulls his eyes back up and looks at him. Gueira blinks slowly.

“What do you want?”

Gueira’s lips part at the question, but then he lets his eyes fall shut and arches his back up into the press of Meis’s fingers. His voice is low and far away, but he speaks.

“I want you to burn.”

Meis shuts his eyes against the sudden rush of heat. “Ah,” he hums, “that I can do.” It’s barely a murmur, strained just so, and Gueira squeezes his hand impossibly tighter.

Then Meis is brushing lightly over the top of Gueira’s shirt until he reaches the threadbare hem of it, and he slips his hand under, pressing white-hot pressure against the hollow of his stomach. Meis can almost hear the sizzle of it. He shakes.

Gueira makes a soft little sound in his throat, and Meis smiles and flicks his hand upwards, drawing burning tracks between the dips of his ribs, digging in, as though he can reach the very core of him.

The fire heats his fingertips and the skin beneath it as Meis sits, languid, and watches Gueira melt.

-

Meis feels the tickle of fire beneath his skin as he hears the whispers in his ears, to release, to burn, to consume. He breathes them in until the fire swells in his lungs and up his throat, pouring out from between sharp teeth. They had both calmed in the low light, and now sit cross-legged, facing each other, flicking fire into the air as though it’s a ball, or a toy, not something so intrinsically part of them. They throw it up against the night sky and watch as it falls, suffocating it in the heat of a sweaty palm when it nears.

Gueira flicks up more sparks, higher this time, but his eyes are on Meis as they spiral down. The fire lands in his hair with a fizzle, and he curses. Meis laughs at the slip, his own fire bubbling, forgotten, on the black leather of his trousers.

Gueira grins at him and Meis throws fire, exhaling in a rush when Gueira catches it, blurring his hand to orange as he clutches at the light. Then, rain begins to pour thick and fast until they are drenched beneath it, dampening the sharp edges of the fire, muting the colours.

“Let’s go.” Gueira stands, brushing sand from his trousers as it begins to stick. Meis feels the heavy droplets against his scalp. They begin to run back across the desert and through the showers until they drip with it. Meis thinks momentarily of the clouds, now grey, purple, dark, above them.

As they approach the building Meis looks up. His neck strains with the height of it as he remembers the swoop in his stomach, and the fall, and he smiles to himself until his cheeks ache. Suddenly he’s feeling everything in excess, then excess itself, and his vision blurs. Gueira is just before him, feet kicking sludge onto the bottom of Meis’s trousers.

“Gueira!” He shouts, as loud as he can, fighting through the rain. Gueira twists slightly in acknowledgement and lets out a small ‘oof’ as Meis slams into him, sweeping him up and into his momentum, electric. Meis’s arm is tight around his waist, lips hot against his mouth, and he stares at him through the smoke.

Gueira settles into it instantly, thawing beneath the warmth of Meis’s very being, hair dripping and flattened against his face. Meis strokes it back with his thumb and breathes deep against Gueira’s damp cheek. He clasps one hand, tight, on Meis’s shoulder, and the other grips at his wet hair, threading his fingers into it as though dragging through the dark weight of the sea. They stumble backwards together until they hit brick, and Gueira arches up from it and into Meis, pressing and pressing as if to become one.

The rain is still heavy when they pull back and diffuse, resting their foreheads together as they pant into each other’s mouths, eyes wide, hands shaking.

“I love you,” Meis blurts, and Gueira does everything he had expected, had wanted, and laughs. Then Gueira’s pressing back in, tugging at his hair, breathing hot pink fire into Meis’s mouth until his eyes shoot wide at the sour smoke against his teeth, until he can think only of heat and cigarettes and Gueira.

Meis tastes the flame on his tongue and thinks of home.

**Author's Note:**

> you have no idea how fucking obsessed i am with these two. if they made daily vlogs i would watch them that's how much they mean to me i am totally whipped 
> 
> thanks for reading!  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lostchuu/)


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